


Seduced

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (honestly what did you expect), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Melkor, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6859375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forge sex. Someone seduces, someone is seduced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seduced

The warm dark skin gently splattered with constellations of even darker freckles glistens with sweat as the young blacksmith continues to hammer at the piece of metal on the anvil. The rhythmical thudding sound is the same as the thrumming of Melkor's heart, loud and vibrant and slightly too fast, as though missing a beat somewhere along the way. The scent of the Maia fills his nostrils, rich and musky, a glorious study on masculinity, the smell of vigorous effort of the body combined with the deeper and less tangible undertone of burning pine bark. Hair like a halo of living fire frames a face frowning in concentration, the beautiful face with high cheekbones and sensual lips, which he licks when for a moment he pauses to examine his handiwork. The blacksmith is so fully focused on his craft, he is still unaware of anyone else's presence in the forge; Melkor uses the opportunity to observe the spectacle of physical strength, unnoticed in his hiding spot engulfed by impenetrable darkness.

It is the third night for the dark Vala to lurk in the workshop, watching the enticing blacksmith as if a shameless voyeur, admiring from such small a distance the way beads of sweat roll down the Maia's toned chest, leaving a trail that glitters in the fiery blaze of the forges; the way the dark taut skin flexes over the muscles beneath, the way soft grunts escape from between the blacksmith's lips as he labours relentlessly. It is the third night for Melkor to look upon the lone Maia and to entertain thoughts quite foreign to him before in their intensity: of stealing the quickened breath and the short grunts with his lips, of tracing the sweat trails with his fingers, of exploring the dark constellations on the hot skin with his hands. He wonders: what would it feel like, to have this restless ferocity focused on him instead; what sounds would the Maia make, trapped within Melkor's arms, forced into a closeness of bodies; would he give in to the embrace or would he fight it, would his body come alive at Melkor's touch or would it grow colder with repulsion-

'O dark one, he who thought yourself so well-hidden: I can hear you breathing in the shadows,' says the blacksmith without once stopping in his work. His voice is melodious and deep, it both caresses and grazes on the ears like bitter herbal tea sweetened with honey would taste on the tongue; _addictive_ , Melkor thinks, _dangerous_.

'Does my presence bother you?' He asks playfully, although his instincts scream at him to flee now that he knows he has been discovered: the Maia is rather unlikely to bear anything but ill will towards him.

Yet, 'I enjoy your attentions,' the blacksmith replies in a tone no less playful than Melkor's. A note of cockiness resounds in his voice, a sense of over-abundance of confidence.

_Arrogant_ , Melkor thinks or maybe speaks out loud, because the Maia laughs.

'It is not in my nature to diminish my skill or my worth in the name of false humility; and either way, of the two of us, are you not the arrogant one?' He asks and discards the hammer. Having apparently lost interest in work, he turns back to look straight at where Melkor is hiding.

His eyes are like the fire of the forges, flames dancing ablaze around the dark slit of the pupil; and trapped in the heat of the Maia's gaze, Melkor is unable to move, unable to escape, as though physically held down in the spot while the blacksmith approaches him slowly.

'In what way do you accuse me of arrogance,' the dark Vala asks, then winces as he takes note of the raspy quality his own voice takes.

'Oh, but in many ways,' the Maia says in barely above a whisper, and all of a sudden he is closer than he should be, his musky scent overwhelms Melkor's senses, his body heat nigh-scorching; he corners Melkor easily, pins him into place, overpowers him without even the need to touch despite being slighter than the dark Vala in physical build. His eyes are hypnotic, the fire within them commanding, and the dark Vala simply – stands there.

'I accuse you of arrogance for the way you kept thinking yourself invisible to my eyes for so long,' says the blacksmith, a smirk on his lips growing when Melkor hisses and attempts to back away. 'I also accuse you of arrogance for the way your eyes followed me: lustful and greedy, and for the way you desired me,' he follows up, licks his lower lip, immediately attracting Melkor's gaze to his mouth.

'Finally,' he breathes, leaning in to whisper in Melkor's ear, 'I accuse you of arrogance for the way you thought to seduce me... when all along, it was you who had been seduced,' he murmurs, his voice a caress on the dark Vala's senses, a caress that wrings out a soft gasp.

The Maia draws back – then leans back in and kisses him.

The underlying gentleness of the kiss vanishes as soon as Melkor realizes it is there, and the blacksmith forces his tongue inside Melkor's mouth, relentless in this just as he was in his craft; the bitter-sweet taste of smoke and honey fills Melkor's mouth, overwhelms him, and he responds by drawing the Maia even closer by tangling his hands in the fiery-gold tresses of the Maia's hair. He gasps when the Maia bites on his lower lip, he moans into the kiss when large calloused hands wander down his body to finally rest on his backside. He allows the Maia the liberty of touching his body in this way, helpless against the waves of desire which course through him and make him weak; and in return, he is granted the reward of hearing the Maia's groan when he pushes his hips to meet the Maia's. The blacksmith's need is evident and Melkor wants him, wants to feel him everywhere, so he attempts to do it again, to undulate his hips, to recreate the delicious friction-

The Maia does not let him. Instead he squeezes the firm globes of Melkor's buttocks before he takes a step back and looks at him coolly as though in assessment.

'Strip,' he orders boldly.

_How dare you_ , Melkor thinks, a rush of anger coursing through him, and he glares at the blacksmith who thinks himself entitled to making demands of the mightiest of all the Valar-

He licks his lips and, under the Maia's appreciative gaze, begins to quickly – clumsily – rid himself of his robes. He is almost done, only the unlaced tunic is left when the Maia grabs his wrists and stills his movements; then forces his arms high above his head and murmurs a few incomprehensible words. All of a sudden, Melkor feels something cold and solid close around his wrists and forearms, and he looks up to see a sort of stone cuffs entrapping him. He frowns and attempts to free himself, but to no avail: there is an enchantment of incredible power flowing through the stone and he cannot break it, not now, not when he cannot concentrate.

'What,' he starts to ask, only to be silenced by the blacksmith who once more captures his mouth in a kiss. It is this much more forceful this time, more demanding, bruising almost; filled with so much want and lust and _promise_ , Melkor cannot but respond to it.

If for a moment of confusion at being so suddenly captured his own desire has sagged, now it returns at full force when the Maia forces his leg between Melkor's thighs and allows him to rub himself against it, allows him to briefly pleasure himself this way. Not long after, however, he draws back again and then sinks to his knees in front of Melkor. He begins to kiss and lick a wet trail along the dark Vala's thighs, he gently nips at the fragile skin on the inner side; when Melkor gasps at that, the Maia looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and then returns to lavish the bite mark with more caresses: with his tongue he circles the reddened skin, then sucks it into his mouth hard enough to leave a bruise. Finally he places a gentle kiss where his mark is left and abandons the spot in favour of moving up.

When his lips first touch Melkor's length, it makes the dark Vala moan loudly and thrash against the stone bindings. He squeezes his eyes shut and hears the blacksmith laugh softly, and then there is the sensation of hot tight wetness engulfing his cock so he is forced to look down-

The Maia's mouth is wrapped so prettily around his length and Melkor is unable to look away now, away from the intense liquid fire eyes which look up at him from beneath thick eyelashes, and he is helpless against the foreign pleasure the Maia is giving him, he is at the Maia's mercy; he writhes, attempts to roll his hips to meet the Maia's mouth at a faster pace, but the Maia's large hands effectively pin him in place before the Maia moves one of them to wrap his fingers around Melkor's shaft so he can swallow them down as well; then when the fingers are wet and slick with his saliva, the Maia removes them and places them lower, first to lay new caresses on Melkor's heavy sac, then-

'What, ahhh,' Melkor moans when one calloused finger starts massaging around his entrance, then he bites his lips to stop himself from crying out when the finger dips past the tight ring of muscle to the first knuckle; it retreats then pushes in, and the motion is repeated again and again until the entire finger slips past the entrance so easily. That is when the blacksmith releases Melkor's cock from his mouth and looks up at him as though with triumph.

'You would let me do you so easily,' he whispers. 'You proclaim yourself to be the mightiest of the Valar, yet look upon you now: ready to beg, wishing for naught but to be taken, reduced to but a _whore_...'

'How-how dare you,' Melkor growls, but his voice gives when the blacksmith pushes a second finger inside of him, when expertly he slides both fingers against an insanity-inducing spot deep inside, when pleasure explodes in a rain of white-hot flame underneath Melkor's eyelids.

'I dare,' says the Maia, rising to his feet. Once more he takes ownership of Melkor's lips, once more he demands everything of him and offers a maddening addiction in return, and Melkor returns the kiss hungrily, greedily, humiliated and through that humiliation even more aroused.

The two fingers inside him are not nearly enough to stretch and prepare him, but neither himself nor the Maia care anymore; the blacksmith retrieves his fingers, wraps them instead around Melkor's throat. Then when the dark Vala attempts to struggle, the Maia positions himself and slides inside of him, at the same time pushing his free hand against his lips to muffle the scream which is inevitably torn from Melkor at the intrusion.

It hurts, but it hurts so good and Melkor is floating in an incomprehensible inferno of pain and pleasure, trapped within the Maia's scorching embrace, and the Maia's soft words wash over him like an enchantment when he is so filled. When the scream dies off on his lips, the blacksmith moves his hand between their bodies to wrap his hot calloused fingers around Melkor's length, to stroke him; but Melkor shakes his head, moans in protest and the Maia understands: he lets go of Melkor's cock and instead uses his hand to guide Melkor's legs up, to help wrap them around his hips.

'You feel so good, so tight for me,' he murmurs into Melkor's ear, licks on the pointed tip. 'So beautiful, so _mine_...'

The dark Vala moans again, looks at the Maia, thrashes helplessly against the stone bindings; he bites his lips not to start begging as the Maia squeezes at his throat more forcefully, almost enough to cut off his breath, almost enough to cause pain. Soft pleas do escape his mouth despite his attempts when the Maia dips his head to lick and suck at a nipple, when he catches it between his teeth and tugs; the slow movements of the Maia's hips take up pace and Melkor cannot hold in the drawn-out moan when the thrusts reach deeper inside of him, when the Maia curses softly and latches onto his throat with his teeth, when the entire world begins to spin before his eyes and-

'Mai-Mairon!...' He calls out and the Maia's fingers tighten harshly against his throat, and then Melkor is _there_ and his whole body is on fire and he is-

When he opens his eyes, the fist thing he sees is fire in golden liquidized form: Mairon is looking at him almost softly, and there is no mistaking the affection in his gaze, the warmth. Melkor smiles, allowing himself to rest against his Maia a little longer. He is no longer cuffed to the stone wall of the forges, indeed he is laid comfortably in the bed in Mairon's private quarters a level above the workshop. The Maia is wrapped around him snugly, sharing body heat since there are no blankets nor furs in his bed for lack of necessity: even in the cold of the ice fortress, Mairon is ever warm.

Melkor feels... calm. At peace.

'Will you remain here? If I fall asleep,' he asks, stretching lazily and sighs contentedly when he feels Mairon move to accommodate him.

'Of course, my lord,' the Maia replies.

'I missed you, my precious flame,' Melkor says, running his fingers through Mairon's fiery tresses.

'Yes, you did, as I missed you, my lord. The only thing that kept me going was the realization that I was doing your bidding,' Mairon agrees, 'but I am here now. I will never leave your side again if that is what you will.'

'Even after you joined me, you still kept me waiting, though,' Melkor mutters with a frown.

Mairon laughs. 'Oh, my lord, that is because there is so much that needs my attention here!'

'I need it the most,' Melkor says with a finality to his tone.

Mairon nods. 'And you shall have it, beloved. You shall have me to yourself whenever you will. Even if you bother me in the forges.'

'I always bothered you in the forges,' Melkor reminds him. He remembers the beginning, the distrust between them, he remembers the first time Mairon confronted him about his stalking ways and what followed that confrontation. He remembers the nights in the forges of Aule, those spent on talking and those spent otherwise. He remembers building the fortress of stone and ice above wild rivers of fire for the forges that Mairon would definitely require. He remembers waiting for him there, he remembers thinking of his blacksmith as he touched himself to empty-feeling completion.

'I missed you,' he repeats softly before falling asleep.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just some short porn to break my writer's block. Also, the fandom hasn't had any bottom!Melkor in a while, so I thought I'd deliver. 
> 
> Also I completely missed the Fluffy February, so yes. (I also missed Morbid March and everything else. I hate writer's block.)


End file.
